


The Most Wonderful Part.

by westofwords



Category: Alice by Heart - Sheik/Sater/Sater & Nelson
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Novel Based, Tabatha's second night searching for Harold, Tw mentions of war/death/bombings/period typical ableism, alice by heart - Freeform, freddie nolastname, platonic tabatha and Harold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westofwords/pseuds/westofwords
Summary: "Tabatha remembered one of the first few nights underground, he'd climbed all the way up to her perch despite the nurses cries, just to show her his newest drawing.It was she, legs dangling over the edge, watching the group of them below."&&& Tabatha is tasked with finding Harold in the novel after he leaves the station. I like to think she succeeded.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	The Most Wonderful Part.

Maybe it was all for nothing.

Perhaps the snide comments of Dodgy or the rude remarks of the nurse held more truth than she'd admit.

Truly, could Harold have survived even moments out here on his own?

The streets looked close enough to a warzone, Tabatha doubted that'd double well with whatever Harold seemed to be seeing.

Still, the tabby sulked by the shadows, keeping careful watch out for anything- anyone.

This being her second night searching, she was determined to go farther. A man some few blocks back had told her of a corner that was always bustling with life, even as the sirens wailed. It was closer to the edge of the city. She knew if she couldn't find the poor soldier tonight, the likelihood of spotting him any other only went down and down.

Not many people were out anymore, especially not at night. You'd have to be mad to risk something like that. Like this.

Mad. Mad, they'd all gone mad. It didn't matter what the old Doctor said, what big made up medical terms he'd used to convince everyone that Harold was the only mad one.

Harold was mad. She was mad. Even good Doctor Butridge was. The world was mad.

Up ahead, huddled under one of the few streetlights left on, she saw a group she could only assume was the one she'd been told about earlier. From a distance, she couldn't spot Harold among them.

As she got closer, one of the men looked up, locking eyes with her and taking her in as she approached. She could smell a mixture of sewage and alcohol coming off of him within the first 15 feet.

"Well…" he purred and slurred, forcing himself off the ground and leaning against the light. The men surrounding him looked up as well.

Tabatha kept her distance, staying a good couple yards back.

"Isn't it a little late for you to be out alone, miss? Surely, once those sirens start you'll be racing home to mum?" 

The group shared a laugh. Tabatha couldn't be bothered to waste anger with their drunken drawls.

"I'm looking for my brother," she fibbed, crossing her arms. "He's just a bit taller than me, seventeen. Harold, his name is."

One of the boys still sitting, the youngest looking of the bunch, piped up.

"Oh! That crazy one, with the funny last name!"

"He's not crazy!" Tabatha snapped, stepping towards the boy.

The other man stepped forward as well, stopping her in her tracks.

"Woah there, kitty. No need for all this, he was only taking a jab at you. Your boy ran off about an hour ago. He was a few lots down, last we saw."

Good. That was good. He wasn't too far then, surely.

Tabatha, still somewhat riled at those comments, nodded. She pushed past the group, feeling their eyes still on her back as she went.

"Stay safe, pretty!" One of them called in a horrible, sing-song voice.

She bit her tongue, fighting off the urge to shoot back once more. It was getting later every second, if she didn't find him soon who knew what would become of either of them.

It was quieter away from the group.

She stopped, just for a moment, and listened.

Nothing. 

Absolutely nothing.

"Harold?" She called into the night.

"Harold?" Louder now, looking around her.

Nothing. No response. Only the wind. Her own breathing.

There were a couple buildings around the area that still stood.

She made her way through an alley between two of them, calling out for him a couple more times.

How much longer could this game of cat and mouse go on? If they were stuck here for too long, they'd be blown to bits. And if she did find him, then what? Force him back to the tube station? Or maybe she could find him somewhere else to stay.

Moments of more quiet passed. The silence seemed to grow louder and more all encompassing with each step she took.

Until - she heard one familiar name.

Freddie. 

Freddie. Freddie. Freddie.

Repeated over and over again, drilling through the surrounding silence.

Tabatha followed the name, leading her right to what she was looking for.

There, now no more than five strides away, sat Harold.

What a sorry sight he was.

Stuck in his smoke stained clothes, covering his ears, rocking himself on the curb of a long abandoned street. Freddie's name, still and still, seemed to be all he could manage to get out.

Tabatha made her way closer, not being noticed by the has-been soldier. It was a relief to have found him, but her heart ached to see him in such a condition.

He was trembling, she realized, eyes shut tight trying to block out anything- real or otherwise.

"Harold," she whispered, crouching down in front of him, "are you alright?"

His head shot up, though seeming to have simply sensed her presence instead of hearing her speak.

His eyes locked to hers, searching them for something she couldn't figure out. Maybe trying to recognize her, maybe trying to see if she had any intent of harming him.

"You." 

He managed after a moment, moving one hand from his ear to touch her- to make sure she was real.

"Me," she responded, "Tabatha."

He shook his head, resuming his clutching and rocking.

"Not safe out here, it's not. Bombs are coming. I'm supposed to warn them. Give 'em time to run. Duck… duck, Freddie!"

Harold curled in on himself, shaking and sweating.

Tabatha moved to sit next to him, their shoulders just touching.

"No one left to warn, love. Besides, we have the siren now."

He bumped their shoulders once or twice, shaking his head, tugging at his would-be hair.

"Gone, Pudding, gone, he is. We'll write his mum. Go home, Pudding, he's gone."

This, Tabatha recognized. This happened frequently. She wasn't sure why, but it seemed as if sometimes, if Harold couldn't work out words of his own, he'd mimicking that which he's been told during his time on the front.

He kept on.

"I saw her, his mum. Stopped by to see her. He wasn't home yet. I waited. 'Should I ring your mum, Harold? Does she know you're here?' "

Harold peaked up, glancing over at Tabatha, who sat listening still.

"I waited, I did. Until Freddie came home, I did."

"You miss him, then?"

"Miss?"

"Freddie. Your Freddie. You miss him?"

Harold stared at her, not understanding. He looked between her and the empty curb across the street. 

Freddie, she realized, was still very much with Harold.

"Nevermind all that," she decided, shaking her head, "It's not safe here, Harold. We should find a shelter."

"The trenches!" he said decidedly, "that's where I was, I was. When I saw it coming, everyone else was above."

Even just recounting this, it seemed to upset him. He took Tabatha's hand, squeezing it between his own as he continued.

"I yelled and ducked. Told Freddie to duck. He looked at me. Said something, too. I didn't hear it. That's when-"

"- Harold," she interjected, setting her free hand atop of his, "we have to go."

"- that's when it hit, then. Freddie flew. He'd wanted to be a pilot at first, yes. So he flew then. Landed next to me. I tried to grab him and then- boom! Again! Mum said I must've seen God, then."

"You must've."

"She said, she did, God wasn't done with you, Harold. God wanted my boy to come home, she said."

"And you did, but now we must go home again." 

Harold stood suddenly, frightened by something. He forced her up too, still gripping her hand tight. He stared off at something she couldn't see. Whatever was hurting him was deep inside his own mind.

"Harold?"

He didn't respond. But his breathing sped, his grip tightened, and she could just barely see his eyes water.

The boy, hardly younger than she, clung tight to her, shaking and gasping for breath.

Tabatha's heart ached again for this almost stranger. They'd all lost so much, she was no exception to this of course. But she'd argue Harold lost more than half of them combined.

And, yet, he was by far the kindest soul of their orphaned bunch. He didn't deserve the snide comments and mocking laughs from the children who couldn't even begin to fathom all he'd gone through. Those cruel people laughed at him, laughed at his pain.

He didn't deserve to be remembered for his pain. Not when there was so much more to him.

His book of drawings sat safe, back in the tube, on Alice Spencer's cot. His drawings made everything real inside his head seem beautiful. His sketches of each of them, caught candid in a frozen state. 

Tabatha remembered one of the first few nights underground, he'd climbed all the way up to her perch despite the nurses cries, just to show her his newest drawing.

It was she, legs dangling over the edge, watching the group of them below.

He'd ripped it out for her, told her it was a gift from him. She could still feel it even now, folded perfectly, pressed inside the breast pocket of her shirt.

"Freddie never came home."

He broke his silence, still staring straight ahead.

"I know."

"But I did."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tabatha, always so quick witted, always so sure of every word, could only shake her head.

"Because… you ducked. Because the blast didn't hit you as hard."

"He tried to duck."

"Maybe so. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference, truly. But, you're alive, Harold. That's the most wonderful part."

She could see, breaking through the dirt and ash in streaks, a few of the tears that escaped him. He let go of her hand finally, facing her fully but with his eyes glued to the ground.

"Are you alright?"

He shook his head.

"We should go."

He did nothing. Stood only for a few moments. 

"Go."

He echoed.

"Together."

She walked, taking his hand, having to tug him along for the first couple steps. Soon, he kept pace with her.

Tabatha could tell, both from his silence and his steep mood shift, how exhausted the poor boy was. Still, if she knew anything from the old Doctor, it was that whatever horrors he saw worsened right before he slept.

Knowing they likely wouldn't be able to make it back to their home tube before a raid began, Tabatha set out to find any other close shelter.

A few blocks down, maybe a ten minute walk, she found another station, praying they had the room.

A nurse, much nicer than their own, ushered them in, finding a spot they could fit in. Tabatha knew in the morning she'd be expected back with the others. The raid started only soon after they'd arrived.

Harold, usually so riled by the sirens, had no energy left tonight. He sat curled in on himself, trying to block the noise out and mumbling over and over more about his dear Freddie.

Tabatha sat beside him, pressing her shoulder to his. She knew that sometimes he was perfectly fine with offering physical affection to the other orphans, but other times could barely handle being too close to anyone.

This seemed to be a happy medium.

A grounding touch was just enough, but not overwhelming. Tabatha stayed right beside him until the sirens stopped. Until the raid ended.

"You should sleep."

She whispered, looking around at the new batch of strangers surrounding them. 

Harold looked like he wanted to protest, but the way his eyes drooped and head bobbed negated any argument he could've come up with.

She stayed, awake, keeping a protective watch, until he'd pushed past whatever terrors baited him to stay away from sleep.

And there she stayed, longer, until hours had passed. Until it had to be sunrise.

Harold was safe here, that was enough. 

She snuck away in the early hours of the morning, saying a small "prayer" to whoever was listening. That one day, when all this was over and done, she'd see the soldier boy again.


End file.
